


Holy tears

by ZoenOut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoenOut/pseuds/ZoenOut
Summary: Crowley has trouble sleeping. Aziraphale helps well, like an angel.
Kudos: 29





	Holy tears

The crying had begun again.  
Sometimes it just came, it flowed up within Crowley and he couldn't contain it. Like the rainclouds during the Flood. The tears just kept flowing. And they stung.  
It'd always been like that. Burning.

Aziraphale had never asked about the scars stretching down Crowleys cheeks. Never asked when they appeared irritated. Never asked at all. Crowley sighed. Thank someone the angel didn't ask questions. Aziraphale probably thought they were from the Fall. He wouldn't be completely wrong.

*** 

In the Fall the now fallen angels' tears were still holy. So when they screamed, when they cried it burned through their flesh. And as they cried their grace out it scarred them. Only on the surface of course, after a few thousand years they were barely visible. But demons didn't cry after that, not even as their tears stopped being holy, even as their tears stopped burning. Demons didn't cry. Even if they could.

Their tears stopped burning. Well for all but one demon. All except Crowley. Lucky thing then that demons don't cry. Except for the fact that Crowley did. He couldn't stop it. And he couldn't stop the burning. His scars grew deeper, they stayed. They latched on to him. They latched on and grabbed a chokehold. Lucky thing demons don't breathe. But it still hurt. Burned, soared through his skin, sending shivers of sharp pain down Crowley's spine. Cold pain. Freezing.

It left him shivering. Wimpering.

He'd stopped pleading now at least. Stopped begging, stopped screaming. The nightmares were almost gone. It was good! Better than ever...  
But it wasn't actually good.  
Sure, it was better. But better doesn't equal good.  
Crowley let out a hitched breath.  
Sleep. That's what he needed.

He moved into the bedroom and dragged the covers over himself.

***

Suddenly there was a bright light. A warm one. It enveloped all of Crowley's bedroom, although it didn't hurt to look at. Crowley had pushed himself up from his bed with one elbow when he saw who was emitting the light. Crowley's eyes widened. He layed back down and turned to the wall.  
This was pathetic.  
He shouldn't have to see Crowley like this.  
Crying.  
Shaking.  
Quite definantly Not Okay. Quite definantly Not Normal.  
Pathetic.

But Aziraphale didn't say anything.  
Not a single word, not a single question.  
He was just there, that part was unmistakable, but he didn't say anything.

He sat down on the bed.

***

The matress dipped slightly, Aziraphale sat just close enough for Crowley to feel the warmth radiating off him.  
Another shiver struck Crowley. He shuddered.  
"It hurts..." he choked out.  
"Oh dear, oh dear," Aziraphale mumbled as he put his hand on Crowley's shoulder.  
Slowly he stroaked Crowley's side, applying just enough pressure. Crowley breathed out, shuttering. More holy tears flowed down his cheeks, although they didn't sting as much when he wasn't alone anymore. Aziraphale continued rubbing Crowley's side, all the while at a slow, concistent pace. And then, he started singing.

The song didn't seem to have any actual words, it just Was and it was futile to try and dechipher it.  
Crowley let out a small sob. He remembered this song. He did even if the pictures were foggy. This was a song from before the Fall.  
From before all this. 

Crowley slowly drifted while Aziraphale sang.  
Pictures danced behind his eyelids, grooming white wings, finding caves in soft clouds, people calling him by another name, people being kind. Pictures of Her. Laughing, singing, dancing. Competing about who could throw a star highest up into the heavens. Who could skip islands the farthest out into the sea.  
Fingers interlocking.  
The innocent kind of love.

The last thing Crowley felt before he sank into the dream completely was a kiss on his forehead.  
He smiled in his sleep.


End file.
